Tributes to a hero of the British Empire in antique porcelain and Worcester dinner services
It is September 1741, and after an extended sojourn
on the Islands of Juan Fernandez, Anson’s crew were once again in a fit state
to put to sea, albeit drastically reduced in number. Half of the ships which
had set out from England had been lost, and nearly two thirds of the men were
dead, but their intent from the outset was to wreak havoc on Spanish shipping
and other interests, and that is what they now resolved to do.
The last of the
ships to have reached the relative calm of Cumberland Bay had been one of the
mercantile pinks, the Anna, but although her crew had fared better than most
during their year of voyaging, the ship herself had been irreparably damaged.
The decision was taken to augment the much reduced complement aboard the
Gloucester, and the Anna was broken up (to render her abandoned hulk unusable
to any Spanish foe who may later come across her) with her crew seconded to the
formerly depleted company aboard the fourth-rate ship of line.
For once, things then began to take a turn for the
better, even while preparations for the forthcoming sortie remained unfinished.
A sail was sighted approaching the fleet’s haven and, relishing the prospect of
combat at last, the Centurion set off to intercept. The first contact was lost,
but another ship immediately hove in to view, and – when challenged – it
surrendered meekly, offering little or no resistance. It was a Spanish merchant
vessel, Nuestra
Señora del Monte Carmelo, which
although laden with largely inconsequential cargo, was the source of some
invaluable information, and the ship herself was added to Anson’s retinue. The
news was of the Spanish squadron under Pizarro which had been sent to shadow
and ultimately intercept Anson; although it must have been difficult to imagine
a passage even more miserable than their own had been, the English sailors were
regaled with tales of starvation, hardship, desolation and disease which
rendered the ships utterly helpless, and left those that had not been not lost
at sea heading back from whence they had come, more concerned with
self-preservation than the pursuit of English bounty. A hastily assembled
flotilla of four newly-assigned vessels was intended to replace the foundering
escadrille, but these vessels suffered crippling damage in the storms which had
so ferociously assailed Anson’s own ships and were forced to return to port
seeking shelter and repair; to all intents and purposes, Anson was at liberty
to cruise up the coast of South America at will, with little threat of
impediment from the Spanish navy.
The armed sloop Tryal then managed to out-manoeuver
and capture a ship almost three times her own size and – already being
incapacitated by storm damage – she was scuttled with her crew then taking
over control of their prize. Two further vessels also fell victim to Anson’s
marauding force, but once again it was the intelligence that they carried
rather than any great plunder that were to prove the most significant booty.
Anson learned that in the first instance the
shore-bound Spaniards has been alerted to the presence of his ships and, more
importantly, that plans were afoot to relocate a vast repository of treasure
further north almost immediately, in the hope that it could be made safe from
the buccaneering English seamen.
The Spanish gold was held in the fortified town of
Paita at the northern extremity of Peru, and Anson resolved to attack it
immediately. The swift execution of his plan caught the defenders completely
off their guard and they were easily overwhelmed; the Gloucester – cruising
offshore under a watching brief – captured two further ships, another which had
been anchored at Paita was also taken, and the nett worth of the plunder in
modern terms ran in to several millions of pounds – all for the loss of a
solitary British life.
It was while the Gloucester was stationed off the
Gulf of Panama that she put a boat ashore on the island of Quibo, the matelots being
despatched in search of food. It proved to be an abundant source of sustenance –
prodigious birdlife which was culled by the English muskets – monkeys and even
deer. However, the local wildlife saw fit to redress the balance of the plunder
by way of “flying snakes which cling to the boughs of trees…and dart upon man
or beast giving inevitable death with its sting” and equally perilous “large
alligators…of considerable bigness”.
Suitably cheered by their successes, plans to go in
pursuit of a bigger prize were drawn up, and it was resolved to sail north
towards Acapulco in an attempt to capture a treasure-laden galleon which plied
a regular route between Mexico and Spanish-held Manila in the Philippines.
Unfortunately, the vagaries of 18th century maritime navigation
methods, the inaccuracies of charts and the fact that the Spaniards were now on
high alert and being supremely cautious after the sacking of Paita conspired to
foil Anson’s endeavours, and after just over four months of somewhat aimless
cruising off Central America, a course was plotted for home, by way of a
Pacific crossing and around the Cape of Good Hope.
Anson now shuffled the cards at his disposal,
choosing to abandon three of the captured Spanish ships and allow a number of
prisoners to go ashore so that the requirement to feed them did not become an
unwanted burden; with the fleet suitably rationalised and considered to be a
leaner, more manageable force, they struck westward on the next leg of their
great adventure on May 6th 1742.
It might be imagined that the well-provisioned fleet
would now have enjoyed a relatively untroubled passage, but the protracted
battering that the ships had taken began to take its toll, and progress was
slow as ongoing repairs were effected. The hoped-for trade winds which should
have pushed Anson westward failed to materialise, and the fetid tropical air
soon saw bouts of scurvy and calentures leaving the crews once again febrile
and debilitated. When the winds did eventually gain strength, they bore down
with such fearful force that the Gloucester was rendered unseaworthy – at least
without the benefit of a lengthy refit in dry dock – and the decision was taken
to remove her crew to the Centurion and burn the abandoned hulk. The storms
also blew the ships nearly 300 miles off course and, having intended to make
for the Island of Guam, they found themselves – some fifteen weeks after
leaving South America – within sight of more northerly members of the Ladrones
Islands (now known as the Northern Marianas). Initially foiled by the
prevailing currents and yet more unfavourable winds, they were eventually able
to make landfall on the island of Tinian. This was an inhabited and intensively
cultivated place, rich in fruit, vegetables and farmed animals, all of which were
to go a long way towards restoring the wellbeing of the debilitated seamen.
Most significantly for our story, the island was the
home to a great many breadfruit trees. Related to the mulberry, this singularly
abundant and heavily-cropping tree provided the single most nutritious source
of sustenance for the Englishmen, who were able to recover a significant part
of their formerly hale and hearty constitution whilst feasting on it. It was on
Tinian that Anson’s Lieutenant Draftsman, Piercy Brett, was to commit to
parchment his sketches of the breadfruit tree – those which were later to be
reproduced on the Valentine pattern porcelain – but more of that anon. In the
short term, during the restorative sojourn on Tinian, there were more travails
to endure. Twice the Centurion was torn from her anchorage by storms and blown
out to sea with only a short-handed crew on board – that she survived was down
to good fortune as much as the seamanship of the sailors, by now seasoned
veterans proficient in handling the worst excesses of the oceans.
Eventually, towards the end of October, Centurion
set sail bound for Macao and Canton, near Hong Kong. The voyage was – for once –
relatively uneventful, with only the outbreak of a potentially disastrous fire
on board as they rounded the southern tip of Formosa (now Taiwan) threatening
to throw their otherwise balmy passage in to the more usual ongoing state of
confusion. tumult and despair. Crisis duly averted however, Centurion anchored
in the Straits of Macao in the first week of November, only to then become
embroiled in a protracted period of politicking and bureaucratic wrangling in
which local authorities excel the world over. Under the normal course of
events, any vessel entering the Pearl River area was expected to pay “honorific
duties” and levies to the local government of the Cantonese chuntuk or viceroy,
but Anson would have none of this, arguing that as he represented the King of
England, if anyone could expect demonstrations of fealty and deference it
should be him ! Eventually, conciliation of sorts from both sides resulted in a
slightly uneasy peace descending over proceedings. Anson was aware of how vital
an extended stay ashore was to his ultimate plans, as Centurion required urgent
and significant repairs to render her properly seaworthy, and although his crew
were goaded almost to breaking point by the numerous transgressions of their
hosts – petty thievery, beatings handed out whilst on shore leave, the imposition
of ridiculous charges for the simplest of tasks and so on – he made it
abundantly clear that there should be no retaliation of any sort. Under the
strictures of this slightly onerous stand-off, Centurion was able to undergo
nearly five months of repairs, and put to sea in April 1743 in relatively good
order.
Anson had done
much to foster the belief that once fully vittled, careened and refitted he
would simply head home for England, but once back on the open ocean he announced
to his crew that they were now to go after the Spanish treasure ships, known to
run in and out of Manila. Centurion took up station to the east of the
Philippines, quartering the known seaways that the galleons were wont to
traverse whilst honing the gunnery and sharpshooting skills of the newly
invigorated crew. It was ten weeks or so before their quarry deigned to show
herself, but on 20th June the Neustra Señora de Covadonga hove
in to view, Anson hoisted his colours and the chase was on. Centurion quickly outmanoeuvred
the galleon, bringing nearly all of her guns to bear and an opening salvo
immediately set fire to coir mats which the Spaniards had stuffed into their
skeins of rigging to provide some cover from Anson’s snipers stationed high in
his own rigging. With the mats, rigging and lower sails all ablaze, King
Philippe’s mariners had little choice but to cut away all the burning material
and cast it in to the sea, reducing their motility and the ability to steer
away from their attackers. Centurion was able to rake the Spaniards with
grapeshot and musket fire from close quarters, rendering the open decks a
killing zone which was soon thick with corpses. Barely an hour and half after
the first shot, the engagement was over, and the Covadonga surrendered, having
had 151 men killed or wounded; there were just three fatalities amongst Anson’s
crew. The galleon was boarded, made at least temporarily seaworthy, prisoners secured
below decks, a skeleton crew set aboard to run her in to port and the two
vessels laid in a course for Macao.
This time, emboldened
by his success, Anson was in no mood to observe procedural niceties and
anchored in the Pearl River, making a point of firing a salvo with his largest
guns twice a day to make it abundantly clear that he was not prepared to be
messed about. This had the effect of rendering the previously interminable
machinations of Cantonese regulatory red tape down to a more timely process,
and within a fortnight all the relevant permits had been issued, duties waived,
pilots procured, protocols seen to be observed and Centurion once again berthed
dockside in Canton. However, although the Cantonese were permitted to provide
fresh provisions to Anson’s crew in order to sustain them on a day to day
basis, an embargo was placed on the provision of the “sea stores” that were
vital for the long voyage home, half way around the world. Anson prepared, once
again, to engage the chuntuk’s mandarins in the games of administrative
chicanery required to maintain the perception that the Cantonese had in no way
been coerced in to doing his bidding, but fate was to cut these pointless
artifices short and – ultimately – to lead directly to the creation of the very
first Valentine pattern porcelain dinner service !
During November
Anson took up residence on shore, awaiting an audience with the Viceroy to expedite
the provision of supplies to his crew, and while he was thusly encamped with a
small retinue of his crewmen, a fire broke out in the dockside buildings. Being
of typically flimsy oriental construction – almost entirely wooden framed and,
in this particular instance, also crammed full with combustible materials – the
warehouses, workshops and shacks along the waterfront burned at an alarming
rate and the fire quickly threatened to get entirely out of hand. The Cantonese
locals proved wholly incapable of doing anything practical to stop the fire
spreading, waving idols at the flaming buildings and chanting at them which,
obviously, was to no useful end whatsoever. Anson quickly surmised that the
only thing to do was to try to isolate the fire by pulling down as yet
un-burned buildings to create a firebreak, but the Cantonese refused to join
him in such an eminently sensible venture as there was no-one in authority on
hand to absolve them of responsibility for destroying the buildings that needed
to be demolished. Anson made a bee-line for the English interests in the
vicinity and, unencumbered by such misgivings, did what was necessary to ensure
that they escaped harm. At this point, what amounted to the Cantonese volunteer
fire brigade turned up, and busied themselves with more pointless genuflection
and the witless display of deities in the general direction of the
conflagration which continued to rage unabated. At last, one of the local
mandarins came to the conclusion that the only way to save the city was to give
Anson free rein to do whatever was required, and duly conferred such latitude
on the Commodore and his men. Now able to do as they pleased, the seamen set
about pulling down the insubstantial buildings to corral the conflagration and
soon had it under come semblance control; Cantonese merchants whose warehouses
were in the most immediate danger exhorted the men to come to their aid, and
each individual triumph over the fire ingratiated Anson and his crew to more
and more of the mercantile folk of the city. Now the thus far ineffectual local
firemen were able to be of some use – damping down embers and the remaining
outbreaks, pulling down smouldering buildings, pushing the more substantial
debris in to the harbour and generally ensuring that the fire was well and
truly extinguished. Eventually, it was out, and the English sailors and their commodore
were feted as heroes and saviours of the city.
Anson was
granted an audience with the viceroy and given the sort of reception reserved
for those held in the very highest esteem; all the issues with the provision of
supplies disappeared, and a fortnight or so later on December 7th,
Centurion set sail for home waters.
The merchants of
Canton, meanwhile, had resolved to present Anson with a token of their regard
for his efforts in saving their livelihoods, and had arranged for service of
their finest porcelain to be decorated in his honour. The details of the
decoration can be seen – and are described in more depth – on the pages of our
website which list relevant items for sale, but in simple terms, the Cantonese
enlisted the help of Lieutenant Draftsman Piercy Brett in determining how best
the porcelain could be decorated to make it particularly relevant to its
revered recipient. Hence the original pieces bearing what was to become known
as the Valentine pattern bore Anson’s coat of arms, numerous nautical images,
elements relating to love and courtship – and the breadfruit tree, which had
proved so crucial to the survival of the crew and the ultimately successful
completion of their voyage.
Finally (huzzah
!) it should be noted that the Anson armorial soup dish shown below contains –
in addition to the other standard elements of the design – a set of bagpipes –
if I can ever work out why, I’ll let you know…
To see more English porcelain related articles please follow the links below
Bow Porcelain
Lowestoft Porcelain
Billingsley Porcelain
link to our relevant website content
The images below
show:
– a world map
showing the route of Anson’s voyage
– Anson’s
squadron attacking Patia
– the breadfruit
trees on Tinian
– Lady Elizabeth
Yorke – the object of our hero’s affections
– examples of Valentine
Pattern pieces in the British and V&A museums
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